


Beware! The Murder House

by darnedchild



Series: Molly Hooper Appreciation Week: Fall 2018 [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Meena is a smart woman, Meena still hates the house, Molly's house, Murder House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 19:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darnedchild/pseuds/darnedchild
Summary: Have you looked in the attic?





	Beware! The Murder House

**Author's Note:**

> MHAW Day Seven – Day 7 – Free For All
> 
> So this is the third (and probably final) part of the Murder House . . . series? Thing? Anyway, Part One was simply “Murder House” and part two was “The Murder House That Dripped Blood” (because I am morbid, and also a fan of old school horror movies).
> 
> Did I send this to my beta yet? No, I did not.

“Have you looked in the attic?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes.” The fork Molly had been holding hovered over the pan of frying bacon. She’d been in the process of flipping the pieces when he’d spoken. “Well, a bit. Just to make sure there was space to store all the boxes that had to be moved out of the basement.”

Meena’s head popped up over the open fridge door. “Why are we talking about the attic?” she asked, already suspicious.

She and Molly had spent the morning wandering through the local farmers’ market, and had only just returned to Molly’s to make brunch when Sherlock had let himself in. Molly had given him a key shortly after the Basement Incident so he could come and go at his leisure while the police searched her basement and excavated her garden. 

There hadn’t been any more hidden rooms in the basement, but the destruction of her backyard did answer the question of where two of the former owner’s (Mr Grant of the embezzlement scam and accidental death) missing associates had disappeared to. 

Sherlock shifted on the stool he’d perched on as soon as he realized Molly and Meena were working in the kitchen. “We’ve gone over the basement with a fine-tooth comb, searched all the closets for hidden compartments, even sent that remote-controlled camera through your air vents.” He impatiently tapped his fingers against the kitchen counter. “The only place left to look is . . .”

“The attic,” Molly helpfully supplied.

All three of them looked upward at the same time.

An hour later, after brunch had been eaten and the kitchen cleaned up, the trio made their way to the attic.

“I can not believe I’m doing this,” Meena hissed as they paused at the top of the attic stairs, torch firmly clutched in her hand. “Do you have any idea how many serial killers hide in attics?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer and she aimed her light directly into his face. “Not a word. Not a single word.”

He rolled his eyes and swung the beam from his own torch until he found the bare bulb hanging amongst the rafters. Pulling the chain did nothing. “The bulb must be burnt out.”

“Fabulous. That is not ominous at all,” Meena continued to grumble under her breath.

“I’ll put more bulbs on the grocery list.” Molly switched on her torch and pointed it at the closest pile of boxes. “Those are mine, but I think the stuff over there came with the house. Where should we start?”

Sherlock turned in a slow circle, taking in the dark space with a sloped ceiling, bare rafters, and unfinished walls that were stuffed with old insulation. “We should split up. I’ll take that side.” He pointed to the left.

“Meena, do you want to take the right?” Molly asked.

“Not particularly, but I’m planning to extort dinner at my favourite out of you for this. With dessert. And alcohol. I figure I can cooperate for the moment. What are we looking for, exactly?” Meena wagged her light in Molly’s direction.

“Anything that seems out of place,” Sherlock answered. “Anything that doesn’t quite fit in. Something that makes you pause and look twice.”

“Like strange doors with padlocks? Or are we talking floating orbs, ectoplasm, and little girls sing-songing ‘they’re here’?” Meena was clearly in a mood already. 

Sherlock cocked his head. “What?”

“Never mind. Meena, you go that way. Sherlock, back over there. And I’ll just stay between you both, shall I?” Molly refused to move until the other two split up and went toward their respective assignments.

Twenty minutes later, they were all uncomfortable and covered in dust and cobwebs. Sherlock had uncovered what had probably been an animal’s nest at some point. Molly made a mental note to have that dealt with (she certainly wasn’t going to touch it). She was just about to suggest calling the search off, or at least taking a break to get something to drink, when Meena called out. 

“Umm, Molly? Sherlock? Is this something important?” Her torch illuminated a small patch of insulation that had a different manufacturer than the surrounding bits. 

“Could be something, could be nothing.” Sherlock moved to her side. “Either way, good catch. Very good catch.”

Molly flashed a thumbs up at her friend from behind Sherlock’s back as he knelt down and began to carefully work the insulation free from the wall.

Meena had finally officially solved the mystery of the Saunders Gang’s missing loot.

As all three of them stared down at the lock box full of money and stolen jewellery, Meena smiled. “Okay, all right. I’ll admit it, this was kind of fun.”

Molly bumped shoulders with her friend. “I knew you’d come around eventually.” 

“Between the kitchen and the master bath, this isn’t an absolutely horrible place to live,” Meena reluctantly conceded. “For a murder house. I’m still not going into the basement or the back yard ever again, though.”

“Fair enough.” Molly could work with that. 

“We should call Lestrade and let him know what we found. He’ll want to send someone out to pick that up.” Sherlock continued to poke around inside the space that had been revealed when he removed the insulation. 

Meena immediately volunteered. “Anything to get me downstairs and out of here.”

Molly waited until her friend was down the stairs, to turn back to Sherlock. He stood and brushed off his trousers.

“You know you don’t have to keep using my house’s morbid history as an excuse to visit, right? That’s why I gave you a key.” Molly smiled shyly, a ridiculous smear of dirt spread across her cheek and cobwebs in her hair. “You can visit whenever, I don’t mind.”


End file.
